


Human Heat

by deathwailart



Series: The Courts [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Gen, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Urban Fantasy, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vampire and a priest meet in a graveyard and it all goes downhill from there only with fewer stakes and more forbidden revelations given the rules that govern revealing your true nature to a human, even when they're able to see what most others cannot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Heat

"This is ridiculous, even by your standards Isaac," Laurent says when Isaac stumbles into the flat's kitchen, still rubbing his eyes and grumbling.  
  
"Can we just leave it? At least until I'm awake, besides, shouldn't you be shoving off to work?" Isaac typically doesn't argue with Laurent – he doesn't really like to argue with anyone if he can help it and that goes especially so for Laurent. Over a hundred years of friendship means that of course they argue (he doubts they'd be healthy if they didn't argue about who said they'd do the washing up and what to watch on the telly) but not over things like this.  
  
"No, Isaac we can't just leave it." Laurent looks tired and that sends a pang of guilt through Isaac when he glances over from rummaging around in the cupboards needlessly.  "He's a man of the cloth-"  
  
"Do you listen to yourself? No one calls them 'men of the cloth' anymore, you're showing your age." The deflection, if it can even be really counted as one, sounds weak even to his own ears and he stalls, one hand still in the cupboard, the other curling into a fist at his side.  
  
Laurent glowers at him and Isaac looks away, ashamed. "That isn't even the point, don't try to dodge the question like a teenager. He's a minister. He might not be a hunter but he knows about what you are, what's out there."  
  
"Just...I don't know what it is Laurent," he admits.  
  
"I don't want you to get hurt Isaac, you're smarter than this," Laurent's voice is so gentle, so kind and patient; Isaac hates it in this moment.  "You know what happens."  
  
He sighs, dropping his head as Laurent's chair scrapes against the floor and allows himself to be turned and gathered into a loose hug, tucking his head into Laurent's shoulder.  "I know, I know. But Laurent-"  
  
"It happens. Stick around long enough and it happens."  
  
"I like him Laurent and it's been a really bloody long time."  
  
"I know that too but you can't – it's too dangerous. He's a holy man-"  
  
"And I'm a monster."  
  
"That's not...fuck I need to leave but you're not a monster," he butts his forehead against Isaac's, "okay." Isaac says nothing, biting his lip. "Okay?"  
  
"Okay," he replies grudgingly.  
  
"I'll check in when you're on shift tonight if I can."  
  
"Don't, I've got a backlog." It's a lie – he doesn't know for sure if he has but he probably does knowing the lab – and Laurent will know but hopefully he'll understand that Isaac needs a bit of time here to cool his head and just think. Although ever since Laurent found out (which was as soon as Isaac found out) the current subject of their argument has been all he can think about.  
  
"Isaac," Laurent begins. Isaac backs away as much as he can which isn't very far, not with the kitchen work surface digging into his back.  
  
"Go, I'll see you later, I can't talk about it right now."  
  
Laurent doesn't look happy but he has to leave anyway, sighing through his nose and Isaac can tell how much he wants to slam the door but being a werewolf, he'd probably break it. Isaac is alone with the muffled noise from the flat above and he shuts the cupboard door, going right back to bed with the curtains still shut, pulling the blankets over his head as he huffs out a sigh. On the bedside table his phone vibrates and he thrusts an arm out to grope for it.  
  
Wᴇ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ Isᴀᴀᴄ.  
  
Speak of the devil. And Isaac knows, he's not _stupid_ , he damn well knows he needs to cut it off or just stop texting and phoning and emailing back, that the person on the other end of the phone already knows enough to track him down and that he's probably just digging his own grave here.  
  
So of course he texts back.  
  
Wᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛ ᴜᴘ.  
  
Then waits under the covers with only the light of his phone, heart thumping, breathing shallow.  
  
Wʜᴇʀᴇ's ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ?  
Pᴜʙʟɪᴄ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ. Idiot, idiot, idiot. He shouldn't be smiling, he shouldn't have that lurch of nervous excitement that'll have him distracted and checking his watch all night. Cᴇᴍᴇᴛᴇʀʏ. Sᴀғᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ. 7ᴀᴍ.  
  
Sᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇɴ.  
  
He tucks the phone next to his pillow as he swallows down the sickly feeling of betrayal that wells up in him. It's not just him. It's Laurent. It's their lives. It's their friends, Laurent's mix and match pack but it's been too long since Isaac has felt this happy about a person, since he's felt so human on a date. It probably makes it even more fucked up that it's with some priest (who either knows because he believes or he's one of those exceptions that can see the Veil, one of those people Isaac has heard about through others but never met until now) and it makes him wish he'd never found out in the first place. Because before? Before he knew it was giddy excitement and teasing and feeling something he hadn't felt in too damn long and as he curls in on himself (he'll need to feed before work now, just to keep himself in check, just so there's not even a hint of a slip) he remembers the thrill of it, the rush of the forbidden. He squeezes his eyes tight shut, dragging his fingers through his hair hard enough to scrape at his scalp and wills himself into oblivion until he needs to wake up for work.

* * *

  
  
How it starts involves Isaac investigating some rumour that's been going around because he and Laurent are the ones that live closest to the local cemetery. It's too close to a full moon and Laurent gets twitchy in cemeteries or anywhere the dead happen to be buried. He doesn't ever admit it but Isaac knows when he's lying so he offers to go when he's finally booted out of the lab after pulling a shift he'll never be allowed to admit to but when there's a particularly grisly murder involving a young woman then it tends to be all hands on deck and to hell with protocol. Isaac just so happens to be the bloodstain pattern analyst (sometimes he regrets that decision) so he's there and answering questions and resisting the urge to snap at every superior and whoever else comes in for the briefings before someone points out that Isaac actually does need to sleep so he won't bugger something up. Not that he would. It's blood. He happens to be a bit of an expert on the subject.  
  
So a few strangers later – the downside of his hours on a case like this involve trying to fit in feeding so he can function properly, especially around all that blood – he's at the cemetery feeling like a complete and utter cliché. At least he doesn't sparkle. Or go to high school. No, he went to university, got a job and works to fight crime like a competent member of society and the least Victorian aspect of him is probably his sex life. When he finds the time. And doesn't scare someone off by rambling about his work with too much glee. Not everyone is so keen on forensics when the glamour of CSI is stripped away for him to get down to the nitty gritty detail of it. And now here he is, three in the morning, flushed from the blood of three strangers and their memories buzzing away in the back of his mind, in skinny jeans that have a coffee stain on one knee from when he started falling asleep and knocked the cup towards himself rather than all over the conference table. He feels like a great big fat cliché, creeping around, shivering from the cold.  
  
"It's probably just some kids up to no good, Isaac," he whispers to himself in the most atrocious French accent he can muster – an accent that only comes out now when Laurent is tired because he's lived away from France long enough to be able to drop all but the faintest hints of it – as he continues wandering around. "But if it's more then don't try to deal with it because it would be awkward to explain away." Because even though Isaac has fought alongside Laurent in two bloody wars and is a vampire, he's apparently a child that can't look after himself from the way Laurent gets at times. He huffs, jams his hands under his armpits to warm them up and looks around before switching back to his own accent. "Wanker."  
  
To his left there's a noise and he goes still, barely daring to breathe. He strains, looking around, much better at seeing in the dark than even a werewolf – their sight is better than others but werewolves hear better than they see – for what might have caused it. He inhales. Human. And something else. Something that smells like sulphur and smoke and it's not a demon, he'd know a mile off it was a demon because there's a strange buzzing itch beneath the skin when it's a demon but it's _something_ and he's off quick as a flash, hurtling through the cemetery to come face to face with a young man holding a cross and shaking as he shouts out words that lash at Isaac until he clatters to a halt. Whatever it was – some sort of spirit rather than the walking dead, he'll need to inform Laurent about this because it might mean magic and magic means demons – it disappears with a flash and hiss, like water on fire and it's just him and a human stranger panting in an empty ceremony with the smell of sulphur lingering in the air.  
  
"Are you—" it's a stupid question to ask so Isaac cuts himself off before he finishes and hurries over to the stranger, carefully touching his shoulder. "Do you need to sit down?"  
  
"Yes, um, yes, definitely, sitting would be- that'd be—" he's shaking when Isaac manoeuvres him over to a tombstone because there's nowhere else to sit.  "Oh my god."  
  
"Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Please don't get into shock on me."  
  
"What...oh my god, by _Christ_..." Next to him Isaac winces and seems to be the only one following the breathing advice he's giving out as the stranger grips his cross even more tightly until it's probably cutting into his hand. His skin burns.  
  
"Can you tell me your name?"  
  
"O-Oliver," the stranger, Oliver, replies and Isaac finally gets a moment to give him a real look. Scottish by the accent, dark hair neatly combed back, tanned skin (or he suspects tanned, shock has made him pale) and bright blue eyes.  
  
"Okay Oliver, I'm Isaac and I'm not actually the police but I work for the police if that helps?"  
  
"Did you see that? That- that _thing_?" The blue eyes are beseeching and this is probably where Isaac should wonder about the Veil and why this stranger can apparently see through it but he doesn't, instead he kneels before him and hopes it's not considered creepy to rest your hand on a stranger's knee when they're in shock.  
  
"I saw it too," he agrees and Oliver sighs explosively. "Is there anything I can do for you?"  
  
"Just sit with me for a while?" A hand rests on his shoulder, warm and steadying.  
  
"I can do that."  
  
"Can you just talk? I know it's probably weird, I just need some background buzz, I doubt I'll remember-"  
  
"Hey don't worry about it," Isaac interrupts with a small smile. "Okay so my name is Isaac Acker, I work in the police lab – I'm a forensic biologist but I study bloodstain patterns too. I stroll through cemeteries at night to relax when I've not slept in over a day and a half – this is making a great first impression isn't it?"  
  
Oliver laughs and relief (he has no idea why he feels relieved) washes through him. "Well I'm used to meeting all sorts here, at least you weren't trying to impress a young lady."  
  
"What?" A laugh catches in his throat as he looks up at Oliver.  
  
"Since I started working here I've seen far more than I ever wanted."  
  
"Working? D'you dig graves?"  
  
Oliver snorts, shakes his head and dangles the cross in front of Isaac's face so quickly that he almost falls back on his arse. "No, I'm a minister."  
  
It's through sheer force of will that Isaac manages not to run away even though his mind is screaming at him to do just that. Some part of him is amazed he's this close to a priest without burning, remembering what happened to him over a century ago when the doctors couldn't 'fix' him.  
  
"Well...no one better qualified?"  
  
"They don't teach exorcisms in seminary," he answers quietly then takes another breath. "This wasn't what I expected when I went for a walk."  
  
"Same here. Takes my mind off my work."  
  
"So we're not going to talk about it?"  
  
"You should probably eat something first, drink too. Good for the shock."  
  
"C'mon," Isaac hops to his feet and helps Oliver up, "there's the manse, don't worry I won't drag you into the church proper."  
  
Isaac should leave. He should just go, he owes a stranger – a religious stranger who just used prayer to vanquish a spirit – absolutely nothing at all but he's tired and hungry and this is part of his world bleeding into the normal world. Instead he smiles and nods and follows Oliver inside for tea and biscuits and promises to kick himself later.


End file.
